Woke up in such a funk today. Went to bed last night in one, too. Life’s still a bit fractured as S’s yet to go back to school, so it’s possible that a lack of routine is all that’s dragging me down. I’m not sure. Whatever it is, I’m having one of those days where any word uttered within a six foot radius of me curls my fingers into fists. I’m trying to distract myself with my usual vices (food and real-life crime documentaries, should you wonder), and yet I still feel like crawling under my duvet and hiding until the week is over with. Tomorrow I start writing my new book. I’ve never set out to write like this before, but I have an idea percolating in the back of my mind and three months to complete a first draft. I know. You’re laughing. I am too. But I’ve lost six months’ momentum now, so that’s all I have left....

Happy New Year, people of the interwebs. I hope 2013 is just as fucking awesome as you deserve it to be and more. :) Me? I just want to be happy. I don’t think that’s too lofty an aspiration, do you? No resolutions this year. Just a few personal pledges that include writing more and begrudging less. I’d eat less and smile more if I stopped sniping about what was happening around me and concentrated more on the people that love me most. You can’t make everyone like you, but you can endeavour to be the friend that you yourself would look to in difficult times. Despite a horrible few months, I really have tried to be that person and I think – most of the time – I’ve managed to pull that off. Someone might disagree, but I went to bed each night with a clear conscience. I simply won’t be walked over. Taken for granted. Taken the piss of....

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